the grand highblood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
grandhighblood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vatheon2012-06-29 10:45 pm
grandhighblood) wrote in vatheon2012-06-29 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
[ ♑ ] see you again soon
who: grand highblood + summoner
when: late at night
where: somewhere on vatheon (subject to change)
style: doesn't matter.
status: closed
The Grand Highblood is a prideful being, especially when it came down the knowledge and skill of activities that were mostly accesible to highbloods and highbloods only. Lowbloods rarely had the chance to indulge in such frivolous luxuries, and especially not one as low on the hemospectrum as the Summoner. So to be thoroughly beaten in the art of slam poetry by a shitblooded little mutated freak is more than just a blow to his pride -- it's also a step up for the lowblood. That is, it probably would've had more merit had it been their universe, but still the principle stands. It enraged him and he had no choice but the accept defeat. Not that he didn't throw a tantrum first before signing off the network.
Days had passed since then, his anger simmering but still longing for strife, and scheming of new ways to either humiliate or abuse the winged troll. There are only so many ways to bash in someone's skull without outright killing them.
Oh.
Speaking of which.... why hadn't he thought of that before? To kill someone here in Vatheon is as permanent and meaningful as never-drying clay. It would certainly piss off such a tree-hugging motherfucker all for valuing life and shit if he just went up to him and killed him, even if they were both well aware of what would happen next. Not only would Summoner come back, the highblood could also enjoy the feeling of life slipping through his fingers once more. Missed how it clung desperately to keep its body alive, only to fade into dark, leaving the shell hollow and empty.
So his mind made, he set out late at night in search of his "prey", searching out specific spots in Vatheon that he's sure to find the other troll.
no subject
But still, have to keep his word. So he kept away from the crazy clown for a while. Hell, maybe he'd hit him up in a few more days or something. He was itching for a fight too after all. But not yet. He'd just chill, things have been going pretty well after all so it was better to kick back.
And not in any of the places the Highblood looks.
The Summoner's found himself in a nice place up on the island tonight, enjoying the night sky with a rather content expression as he leans back against a tree somewhere in the rather extensive woods. He's not too far from the elevator entrance, just a but north and looking up through a small open patch in the canopy.
Eventually he kind of passes out, he's pretty prone to purrbeast naps after all, and just stays leaned back, hands with fingers locked behind his head.
no subject
He's never really been up to the island, and thought, well, if he's not in any of his usual hangout spots, then might as well check. The ride up is uneventful, though he finds the elevator itself somewhat amazing and miraculous. It's quiet up here too, and he wanders about, naturally attracted to the dense forest. He figures the Summoner is always gonna be hanging out in the forest of some kind, surrounded by animals and shit, hiding away in the tangles of the canopy lest a hungry predator happens to be lurking about.
Said predator spots him pretty easily, unfortunately for the Summoner, his large horns being the greatest giveaway in this situation. Sylladex accessed, he slowly draws his blood-stained club, slinging it over his shoulder as he silently flash steps behind him, raising the gigantic bludgeoning weapon behind him and swinging horizontally at the sleeping Summoner's head.
no subject
He doesn't hear anything though, especially with that flash step, but once it stops, the Highblood's gotten set his feet down on something and that crack and rustle's enough to sir the Summoner. Unfortunately that club is still coming down with a lot of force, and though he manages to get his head away in time, he feels his whole body jerk down to the ground hard as the club comes down on a horn and quite easily cracks it.
The length doesn't break off but there's one hell of a line there know and though Summoner thought he'd pretty much never feel anything on either of those lengths again, he's proven wrong by how terrible that crack hurts. A good shriek of pain leaves him from it too but he's at least thankful it's not clean broken off.
His head is booming and he just barely manages to scramble to his feet only to crouch forward and press at his forehead with his fingers. The orange blood snarls, the pain in his skull jarring, beating into his temples and he staggers back a little before managing to clear his mind enough to pull out a short lance.
"What- w-what're you DOING? You FUCK!?"
no subject
He takes a menacing step forward, bringing his foot down heavily onto the splintered bits of wood. They crackle painfully, like bone being broken, and drags his club along the forest floor to swing upward when Summoner pulls out his weapon.
"What's it all look like a motherfucker's all doing? GETTIN' HIS HEALTHY MOTHERFUCKING SURPRISE STRIFE ON, HEH!"
Eyes gleaming, he continues to swing - side to side, up, down, diagonal, just no real thought or pattern to it, just compelled to swing to feel the heavy thuds against his club.
no subject
"I'll tell you what it looks like, y-you sick bastard-" He growls, leaping back, forcing his wings open to help glide him a little further away than if his feet just moved him. Suddenly he pulls out a large hunting knife and spins it in his hand, grabbing the blade end instead of the hilt end, his short lance held tight in his opposite hand.
"Look's like you makeup's lacking today!" And he throws the knife hard, aiming for a head shot or even just the clown's neck. He's in a slight panic though, a strife initiated in surprise? Was he really going to start with that here of all places? Damnit.
"Come on princess, give me some COLOR."
no subject
Without really answering him aside from the maddening cackle, he stops swinging briefly when Summoner glides backwards, a knife now in his hand. He never really takes the little thing too seriously, even if it could really do a number on him if it plunged into him. He shivers a little, imagining how that would feel, then switches his weapon too, keeping his eye on the bullheaded troll who then just straight up chucks that knife at him.
The slightly longer but thinner club now in his hand is more like a baton covered in short spikes, almost like a bizarre meat tenderizer, and he tries to swing it to deter the path of the knife from his neck. He misses, and while from afar it seemed as if it were aimed at his neck... he only realizes too late that the tip of said knife is homing in dangerously close to his eyeball. His right eye snaps open wide.
A horrible scream echoes through the forest. The highblood closes his eyelid tight around the invading steel blade thrust into his eye, slightly closer to the outer edge, cutting into his cheek. Purple blood oozes out and down his face, dripping from his chin at multiple points. His hand comes up and grasps at his cheek, pulling and digging his nails into it as he gasps noisily and angrily. His good eye is blazing red, and despite the searing pain, he grins like a crazy man, blood staining his teeth as his mouth stretches open wide.
"W...WELL, MOTHERFUCKER? Hows. IT. All. MOTHERFUCKING. Look?!" And without even bothering to pull it out, he charges forward, large hands balled up into fists ready snap out.
no subject
The new weapon's strange, it's... a lot more menacing, more cutting pain, less bruising and broken bones. Suddenly he's a little more confused and scared, his instincts telling him to back out but he-
Damnit, he can't flee. Never.
And suddenly his attention is glued to the larger troll as he screams. It sends a shiver down his spine to hear it, a scream that's not at all just from pain and damnit, that's terrifying. Especially when those snarling, shrieking lips coil into a smile, accompanying a single red glowing eye.
Lysunder gasps, feeling his heart clench as he stares wide eyed, watching blood drip down the larger troll's face. His fingers feel raw as they wring and writhe around the hilt of his lance but it does well to stop him from shivering. Not that his wings don't completely give it away. This is different. This is different. Shit, what, what does he want?!
"Yo-" he doesn't even get a reply in before he's suddenly being stormed at and his legs freeze for a moment. Summoner curses under his breath, flapping his wings as hard as he can to just barely lift him up and land him back. But without the lift of his leg muscles it's hard and he only goes so far. It's enough to wake his lower limbs up though and soon he's pulling out a second small lance, using it to attack at a hand as it comes at him, the other trying to block any secondary attack at his other side.
He wants to cry a name, something, anything, not "Grand Highblood" it'd hardly work here, would only prompt that authority this tyrannical fuck seems to believe he has anymore in this damned place. Lysunder wants a name or title that'd actually call to this freak and try to break him out of this rage but as he opens his mouth while defending he's at a loss for words before finally managing something.
"You're beautiful, gorgeous even, a real gem, but y-you-" His lance hits a hand, slowly and awkwardly being pushed back by the force of those hands.
"YOU, need to stop!"
no subject
He saw him standing there, just watching him, with that sort of stunned expression that he can read so easily like a fucking book. He can see him shivering, the slight vibrating quality of those beautiful wings, and curious as to why he isn't running away or evading him easily like usual. He figures it has something to do with his little makeover and shit that all went down with it. It's almost nice how much of a reaction he gets out of him like this...maybe this injury is worth it.
He focuses on that wide-eyed expression when he runs at him, one hand clenched around the handle of his weapon, the other just a plain fist, and they both swing at him. He sees how hard he flaps those wings, grinning, brows knitting tighter, noticing the way his legs refused to cooperate. It's so fucking cute, honestly. Claws unfurl from their clenched positions, trying to scrape, grasp, and smack at while the spiky baton comes up from the side to try and catch him off guard, but usually ending up in banging against the second small lance. Blood and hair flies everywhere, the mess getting sticky against his face and flecks of it getting into his hair, some maybe even on the Summoner. His tongue flicks out to lap at some of it as it runs over his lips, sneering down at him.
Being complimented like that isn't expected though, and he chortles dryly. "You, you, you--" He mimics, then winces painfully, "Ooh, that all sounds like the motherfucking hottest thing a brother has ever all said to this brother."
Then he throws his weight into a shove, bringing his hand up to try and claw at him while bringing down the baton again once more, trying to break through . "BUT I AIN'T GONNA MOTHERFUCKING STOP! Only YOU can all provide the blood-pumpingest excitement, motherfucker. I got to all have the righteous shitblood all up on my hands and running down my arms as I up and give you a proper fucking representation of what all a SACRIFICE IS ALL ABOUT." Then he snickers lowly, voice hitching, then letting out a loud snarl.
no subject
Summoner wishes he could slice away his fear and panic, he knows the beast is reveling in it, lapping it up like a hungry barkbeast. Even through the macabre waterfall of a mask he can see the glee on that menacing visage and he despises the fact that he can't calm himself down. Maybe hurting his eyes wasn't worth it- it only seems to be making him more feral and enticed by all this.
Accompanying the Highblood's words are light splatters and drops of blood, flying every which way as the flurry of swings and slashes come at him. Summoner doesn't try to avoid them, even as he feels some of the drops hit his face. It's disgusting but invigorating at the same time. His face flares up from the comment and the exertion, heart racing as he continues to parry and block, being backed up more and more as he holds a glistening sneer. He's doing his best to hide his fear and maybe his expression manages to do so, and all the movements makes it seem like his shivering has stopped. A plus, he supposes, but he can't really suppose or think anything else because there's a claw coming down at him and a bladed weapon to follow.
Lysunder backs, but feels claws grind down his chest, tearing his shirt and wrappings easily, pulling at them. He can feel his flesh snap and shred under the pointed claws. Vertical stripes of orange are cleaved all the way down and he cries out, yanking away, feeling his flesh tug as the claws detach from his torso. He manages to block the second attack but it makes him crouch low under the Highblood's stretch, the effort pushing more blood out onto the ground, making him wince as he how body seemed to flare up even hotter.
"Sacri-f-fice-!?" His voice is strained, doing his best to hold his lance up against the baton before pushing hard, enough to give him a space to jerk back, swinging his head hard to smash his uncracked horn against the side of the Grand Highblood's skull. He jerks back fast, stumbling away, breathing hard and gasping as his entire front covers in coppery brown blood.
"What- what are you going about, not this religious bullshit you sanguineous party favor!"
no subject
He groans, his good eye squinting pleasurably everytime his claws comes into contact with flesh, and when he gets lucky, dragging his hand down to claw off bandages and cloth, he's almost tempted to hook his nails into the soft skin, to anchor him down. Feel blood on his fingers. Draw him closer. To drink in that beautiful expression of anger, fear and shock, even when he tries do mask it. He has to swallow hard to make sure his heart hadn't jumped up into his throat as it pulses viciously.
Grinning, he tilts his head at Summoner as he stumbles backwards. He's about to open his mouth and go on a full explanantion when suddenly he feels the horn crack against his head, whipping it to the side. A low snarl builds up in his throat, but his glare is still intent on the Summoner, dragging eyes up and down his bloodied front. The club spins in his hand, gripping tight as it drags on the ground when he takes a step forward.
"Oh, perhaps a brother should've been all motherfucking TELLING YOU about the wicked plans I've all up and concocted for you," he says in a raspy voice, wounded eye still clenched shut. bleeding profusely. His breath is heavier, the blood loss from his head area making him lightheaded a little quicker than usual. "BUT...motherfuckin' BUT, don't let me all ruin the surprise, heh heh. THINK THE MOTHERFUCK ABOUT WHAT THE WORD 'SACRIFICE' all up means to you!"
no subject
Ugh, or is that his own. He can't say, he's so damn terrified right now, though he's doing his best to warp that fear into anger.
"And sorry, chucklefuck, I'm not religious." Said with a scowl, bowing his head, but he doesn't keep the brooding expression for long, soon chucking either lance forward at the Highblood fast, aiming for his chest and stomach. Quickly after and pulls out a rather formidable long lance and darts forward, jabbing the weapon to strike after the two previous.
no subject
An arm shoots out when it jabs, grazing his side and leaving a shallow cut that bleeds immediately. With a threatening growl, he yanks it forward, bringing the Summoner close and jams his thumb claw into his stomach near a kidney, puncturing a nice sized hole. He wriggles the nail around a little to get the blood flowing out, and the rest of his fingers curl around his waist, rubbing at the base of his wings.
"Just be a good little bleatbeast and bleed for me, motherfucker..." His voice suddenly grows low as he leans in, the handle of the knife brushing against the side of the Summoner's face as if daring him to just wrench it out.
no subject
The splinter wood doesn't do much to phase him, he expected it, but the sudden tug forward makes his whole body tense. The Highblood yanks him forward so easily with how light he is and it's no time before he feels such terrible pain in his torso. Summoner whole body shakes, jerking forward and curling into himself as he coughs up blood, giving another strained sound of pain to his company before his hands try to fumble away from his lance's hilt and he tries to push back.
But there are fingers curling around him, claws and pads of fingers barely touching his wings before he moves them as fast as he can to try and get them away from the hand grabbing him.
"Ah! Haa, I've never bled for you." He snarls, barely an eye open before he grabs that knife, taking the challenge.
His hand wraps around it, feeling blood make his skin slick and he wrenches it out of the Highblood's skull with a hollow sound popping behind it. He can feel it dislodge and without a second to think, slams it into the back of that hand grabbing him, as deep as it'll go, and then yanks it upwards at an angle- like a lever- hard.
It quickly buckles against a long bone of the Highblood's hand and snaps it with a rather satisfying crack, he can feel his side get bloodied with indigo quickly and his immediately tries to use this to get away if able to, swinging his head again hard to crack his horn against the bastards throbbing skull.
"I bleed for my PEOPLE!"
no subject
But before he can actually start enjoying anything, he feels whatever is remaining of his pulverized eye suddenly give away with a sickening noise, bits of it popping out with the knife when the Summoner pulls it out. He can feel the blade scraping across his skull, the noise grating and vibrating throughout. He howls in pain, and wants to slap a hand over his eye, but he feels another sharp CRACK of his bones as the sharp tip cuts through his hand and yanks upwards, bending the hand into an odd angle and bone splitting the skin. The howl is cut off and any sound is choked off by a moan, high-pitched and choppy, and doubles over, using his good hand to clamp around his wrist. His hand is a mess of blood, dark, almost black, and he can't even clench it into a fist what with the little sharp ends of bone sticking out.
The swinging horn nicks him in the face and the highblood staggers back, gasping in ragged painful breaths, vulnerable to attack. His club is on the ground, which is ignored at this point, his focus on two things and two things only: The pain in his hand and eye, and the seething expression of the troll in front of him.. He still manages to glare at Lysunder, albeit with just one eye while the other one was just a gaping wound filled with bits of bloody pulp.
"Your people...h-heh..." The highblood pauses a moment to let out a gasping chuckle, voice growing a little hysterical. "YOUR MOTHERFUCKING DIRT CRAWLING SAD EXCUSE FOR PEOPLE aren't all here, motherfucker. They could be up and motherfucking DEAD now for all you fucking know. So it don't all even matter. Just motherfucking lay yourself out and let a brother watch the beautiful life all...escape from your handsome fucking shell."
His tone is almost teasing, even through all the chattering of his teeth.
no subject
Yet another lie to say he didn't enjoy those sounds of agony. The sound and sight of that gore on the Highblood's face would make a less experienced Summoner glance away, stomach churning, but here we stares full on, watching the indigoblood's expression contort from not only the pain in his face, but in his hand now as well.
"Heh."
He stumbles back, a kind of lazy few steps with how light headed he's getting now. Lysunder's got a bit of a cocky smirk on his face as he watches the huge troll curl in pain, grabbing near his wounded hand. He gets a rather satisfying shiver seeing the Highblood recoil from the second horn clock to the face, and a more noticeable shiver after that when their eyes lock, both glaring directly at eachother. Summoner'd get so much more from this if he wasn't almost fainting right now, his front a mess and he can feel his insides bulge out near his skin a little from that last pierce into his stomach near his kidney.
"Heh-eh-" A laugh starts but is quickly covered by some rather hoarse coughing, blood splattering from his lips and dripping down his neck. Summoner looks down for a moment, breathing in deep, nostrils flare, he becomes all the more aware of the septum piercing in his nose, how torn his clothing is, how bad his head hurts. There's throbbing everywhere but he can feel a kind of... cold, wrapping around him and his daze is becoming a little more comforting.
"No, I know they're w-waiting for me-" Coughing, hands trembling as they clench at his sides, soon removing a medium sized jointed lance, each joint cone having sharpened points around it at the edges.
"And no way am I gonna let some- some crazy ass flamboyant carnival fare make me think otherwise." The words are harsh as they leave his lips. He can feel blood seeping down his chin and neck, and he can be feels tears bead at his eyes from the pain. But he steadies his gaze at the massive troll infront of him, doing his best to hold the heavy lance's hilt even with how much his arm is shaking.
no subject
But he knows a dying troll when he sees one. Always surrounded by the dead and dying, he notices the signs right away: the swaying, coughing up blood, and of course knowing what sort of damage the rebel troll had taken. Those deep claw marks down his front weren't shallow scrapes, after all. They dug down deep, and he was...still is bleeding out near gallons of that shit in his veins. Not to mention that nice little puncture wound was doing well in letting out some extra blood and then some.
He sighs despite himself, content with just how fucking great Lysunder looks with that dark orange color dribbling down his chin and neck, and licks his own lips at the image of sliding the tip of his tongue up his throat and chin. Even with that weapon he just drew, it wouldn't be too hard to get the upper hand on him -- just had to calm down a little and focus on something besides the pain.
"Whatever all helps you motherfucking sleep at night, like all some stupid wriggler trying to convince himself that all's still GONNA GO ACCORDING TO MOTHERFUCKING PLAN." He shakes his head gently, not wanting to jostle his head too much. Slowly, he releases his wrist and bends to pick up his spiked club, letting the head still rest on the ground as he takes the handle into his hand. His fingers tighten around, while the hand that still has a knife plunged into it shakes the knife loose, twitching his fingers while wincing all throughout.
"Think you can all come at me still, motherfucker?" And then he takes a step forward.
no subject
Well he wouldn't even think that if he could see himself. The amount of blood loss will lead to a slow death if he's not patched up soon, but there's no running. Not that he could really run far in his condition. If he really had the mind to he could commune with Dural and perhaps get Darkleer's help but-
No. No running. He'll be a stubborn fool before he absconds.
"Sleep at night, careful seems like this place is changin' y-ya more than you expecting, heh-" Another cough, pulling up his free hand to hold it infront of his mouth. He gives a dazed expressing to the blood he coughed up on the binding at the back of that hand before looking back to the indigoblood.
"Yeah I-" he starts, swaying back a steps. His wings open again, balancing him and most of him is rather aware how stupid it will be to attack again but he still does- and with more force than one might expect with how hazy everything is for him.
His whole body moves forward, extending the land with a hard shove to wards the Highblood troll. He doesn't falter at all, a shot as good as any before this point, but once his arm is extended it's full length he feel a sudden jolt of pain and he cringes a little, snarling with his eyes squinting.
no subject
"What can I all motherfucking say? I ALL UP AND GOT THE FUCK USED TO IT." His lip pulls back into a sneer, watching him carefully with one eye. His entire body shakes, though he swears a good chunk of the reason is in anticipation. That lance isn't as formidable as the last, but he's curious if the near-dead thing could even succeed in taking him out in his condition.
His mouth stretches wide into a vicious grin when the Summoner charges, fixated on the wings and how they brighten up this dangerous scene. It's a sure bet that he'll get his hands on those priceless treasures mounted on his back, once he gets his hands on the still-living troll. His stance is defensive, preparing and holding his ground for when the Summoner thrusts that lance forward. It's not like he had time to think about it, what with being only a couple feet away, but he manages to bring his arms up to take the brunt of the force. The tip jams into his arm (the one with the injured hand) and it breaks through the skin and muscle, more blood spilling everywhere. He grunted loudly and let out a terrible yell of pain, but his teeth grind and swallow down anymore sounds before his stance holds and stops the Summoner from driving it in any further. He had a tight grip on the lance yet again. It didn't bother him to use his own body in a reckless way to catch his enemies.
"Heh HEH heh HEH."
The spiked club swings around towards the back of Summoner's head, resulting in a sickening crack (though it probably wasn't nearly enough to kill him), and then another hand - was it the injured one? How did he even - well, somehow, he managed to get those fingers to bend and wrap around one of Summoner's horns, the broken one. He feels it give, crackle a little under his grip and he tugs on it once.
"Here, why don't you all let a brother lighten the MOTHERFUCKING LOAD FOR YOU?"
no subject
"Ah-!" His head jerks, neck muscles tensing and eyes squinting tightly closed, all in reaction to that bloody fist coming around his horn. He can hear it crack too, he can feel it crack. It throbs terribly at his scalp, sending an ominous tempo of heart beats into his ear drums, it feels like they're going to burst from out loud it is.
"Neeagh...Fuck-" Is barely all he can manage, a pained gasp as his hands coming shakily up near the Highblood's hand and his horn, wings slide back behind him like a purrbeast's ear when it's threatened.
no subject
"Shhhhh," he hisses. "Relax, motherfucker. You've been all real motherfucking good. Time to all just let shit the fuck go, heh heh heh..."
His laugh is soft, if a bit hoarse in the throat. His hand smoothing up the wings delicately and making his way to the base, rubbing and massaging there like he knows the Summoner would like -- at least, that's what i assumes, judging by the way the muscle twisted and flexed under his fingertips. Compared to the Summoner, the Highblood is now nearly relaxed, just breathing unevenly from the lingering pain in his wounds, but very much in control of his emotions now.
no subject
The 'shh'ing of the Highblood's voice is barely even heard at first and then suddenly he can hear again, slowly, but it feels like he is listening through something, like water, and soon the words hit him and his eyebrows furrow.
The Summoner's eyes focus on the other's chest first, slowly looking around blood splattered armor and hair. Eventually he finds his face, and by the time he does he feels like he could just close his eyes and stop seeing all together.
"Ahhh- haa..." But really that's too much to ask because now he's gasping, hands moving up to grab at the wrist of the hand on his waist. The feeling of fingers rubbing against his back and massaging the tension there is more welcomed than he'd normally let on. He's too faded to fight it and too tired to react negatively, besides, it feels too good in contrast to his other wounds that he just shudders and bows his head, jaw dropping.
"S-stop-" He finally heaves, his grip tightening, but still weak. His eyebrows furrow again and his wings flutter lazily behind him, shifting various muscles on his back. Summoner's claws sink into skin, but it takes a lot more effort than normal, and he already has to stop and cough up a little more blood, trying not to thinking about-
-well-
-pretty much everything happening right now.
no subject
"No." Is all Summoner gets for his great efforts to speak, and ignores the hand on his wrist, still digging the pads of his thumb and forefinger into taut skin, brushing against fluttering wings. Even just the papery rustling noise of wings makes his gut curl, the air dusting over his hands making them twitch.
The claws digging into his hand only gets a long, satisfied moan from the highblood's lips. It's gotten to the point where anything that wasn't as painful as his current wounds were just fucking pleasurable. They stung, but that's all it did. He leans forward, cheek and blood matted hair brushing against Summoner's cheek and whispers right into his ear.
"Hey, motherfucker..." His finger trails down his spine, stopping at the small of his back before trailing back up and fingering the base of the wings again. "Just all got my little motherfucking wondering on here but... heh, think you could give 'em to me?"
The question is strangely timid, asking for permission, as he breathes lazily against his ear with low growls in between.
no subject
Eventually his head bows again, twitching at the cool temperature of face paint and slowly drying blood as it presses against his cheek and gasping lightly when air is breathed over his ear. Another arch of his back, shoulders relaxing- and then the next words are heard.
It takes a moment to register what is actually behind said here and he glances down and to the side before his body tenses and he lets out a scared sound. It's short, panicked, and his grip clenches on the Highblood's wrist again.
"No-" He starts, his wings opening, and suddenly his whole body is jerking. It hurts, ugh, everything hurts when he moves. He can feel more blood leak from his wounds as he really starts to push and tug and yank. His legs kick, they feel so heavy and his teeth weakly manage to snarl as he furiously tries to get out of that grip. He was going to die, he- he knew that. He could feel it by now, how he was slipping. But the sudden fear of having his wings torn from his body sparked something in him and he's quickly trying to fight his way free.
"No! NO- LET GO!" He shrieks, the flurry of birds winding up from the trees all around them and not too far from their small clearing. They're loud and furious, just as Summoner's cries are as he tries to get out of that grip, his wings fluttering madly behind him.
no subject
"Ahhh ah ah, hey, motherfucker," he grumbles, the side of his head still pressed against Summoner's cheek. "Shhh, don't all motherfucking fight it."
There's a smile in his voice, mischievous, cruel, yet gentle as he releases the cracked horn and now has both hands holding the Summoner down as he thrashes about. With a grunt, he presses the side of his head harder against Summoner, continuing to hush him, even nipping at his ear in an attempt to hold him still. It's a good effort, he thinks, being nearly dead and all, but not good enough to escape. Fingers delicately pull apart the section of his wings, hands spreading wide and curling a thumb over the edges. They feel like they would just crinkle at a touch. So delicate yet so strong. Such miracles sprouting out from the lowblood's back. He must have them now.
"Just take a deep. Motherfucking. Breath--" And he snickers softly.
A loud crunching sound comes from behind the Summoner's back, large hands just digging claws into the thin membrane of the wings to get a good anchor on them. Slowly and agonizingly. he starts to pull from the top, ripping them out close to the base then adjusting his grip so that he's not pulling the wings themselves but pulling at the roots. He doesn't want to ruin them.
no subject
Lysunder's voice shudders, straining as the Grand Highblood's other hand grips him. The lack of weight on his horn makes it a little easier on his think pan but everything is still so hazy and painful as he thrashing and shoves.
"Nngh- ah, shove y-your bullshit shooshing up y-your nook-" He growls, feeling a shiver run through him from that small bite on his ear. All these mixed messages are making him so confused, but he knows he needs to get out, needs to get away. He has before.
"Ahh, ahh no no-!" His voice is a little higher pitched as he whines, feeling his eyes push, tears starting to stream down his face when he feels claw sink into his back. The Summoner takes the other's words and breathes in deep, preparing himself-
or well, trying to.
But nothing could prepare him for that pain.
Sharp point skin into his back, he can feel skin splitting and snapping, muscles getting severed and balling up at connection points. The orangeblood screams, his head raising, his vision blurring as he stares wide eyed into the sky. His hands clench, sinking his claws into the idly hand still gripping him, grinding and pulling as skin as he writhes in agonizing pain. More screaming, feeling veins and connecting strands of flesh yank and pull, tearing from his back as the huge troll slowly uproots his wings. He can't even form coherent words as his body shakes from the act and slowly his wings stop to move on their own. He still... feels like he's flapping them, the ghost sense continuing as he pants and strains.
"A-ah... ha- bastard." He's sweating terribly, bleeding from not only his front, but his back as well. The skin is stripped around his mid back and shoulder blades, the pale coloured bones seen underneath blood as it continues to gush from severed muscles and other tissue. He can't stop shaking and his body slumps, eyes barely open, sight fading getting darker by the second.
no subject
"Yes, yes, motherfucking yes," he mutters in reply, throwing his head back as well, eyes rolling back hard. "It's all mine now, motherfucker."
He can feel the life slowly seeping out of Summoner, and holds him easily when he falls against him like dead weight. One hand stops its efforts, just grasping the lower half of the bloodied base with his nails while the other gives the other half of the wings a final rip, tearing it off his back and tossing it aside. He's happy to know that it still looks magnificent on its own, without the troll attached to it.
Feeling a bit tired, he slowly takes a seat on the ground, taking the Summoner down with him, adjusting his legs if he'll let him so that he's sitting in his lap, head leaning against his shoulder. The horn rests on the highblood's shoulder, keeping the near-dead troll upright. The other wing is still attached to the slumped troll, but he doesn't move to yank this one out just yet. Instead, he just strokes it gently, but scraping his claw alongside the bloody gaping wounds.
"Don't you even all motherfucking worry. I'll take good care of your shitty broken body while it's still all in this physical world."
no subject
"-never-" He gasps, his nose scrunching a little. 'Mine'. Hell no. He doesn't belong to anyone, no one does, that's bullshit. And he wouldn't agree to it, even as he slumps in the other's grasp, fading into darkness.
Lysunder twitches, feeling the last bit of skin pull from his back and the wing is completely severed. He still feels like he can... move it. The other one doesn't seem to move at all, except various pained shivering and twitches here and there. His body follows suit with that twitching as he's moved but really, he's pretty much a rag doll at this point, barely able to his head let alone a hand or foot.
Soon his face is pressed against a shoulder and he's gazing at what appears to be... a chest, or, neck. He's not sure. All he does know is there's a sea of black hair around his face and it's cool to touch. He's comforted by it, closing his eyes and just feeling it press against his hot face, the familiar feel of long hair immediately bringing to mind one person in particular and he furrows his brows thinking of him.
"-Ah- Darkleer." In his daze he's not completely out of it to think this monster beneath him is that person, but that person is certainly in his thoughts right now after he whispers the name, body still, breathing heavy, his heart starting to really slow down. Summoner can't even feel the touching at his back any more, just staying slumping forward, his eyes barely open and slowly growing dimmer.
no subject
"Heh, oh, yes, you all up and fancy the pathetic motherfucker, don't you?" Though as a matesprit or not, he's not completely sure. He only assumed, seeing as the two had mostly kept it sort of on the down-low, and probably made sure that HE of all trolls didn't get that information. "Well, I got something better for you to utter out with those motherfucking full lips of yours--"
He leans down slowly, his hair curtaining them both, and from the outside, it looks as if he's kissing him. But his mouth is hovering just an inch from the Summoner's ear, hoping that he hears before he draws his final breath. His lips mouth out:
Gia co mar
"Heh heh, now sleep, motherfucker..."
no subject
"Ah..." A slight twitch, moving his head against that nuzzling. It's a pleasurable contrast, sending weak chills through him from the base of his horn and he pulls a hand up weakly, setting his palm on the Highblood's chest. The larger trolls words stir something in him and his eyes manage to open a little more, glancing over at the Highblood and slowly glaring.
He feels more moving and he suddenly realizes he- he can't see anything. but he feels his eyelids are open. Maybe he can see ...splotches, shadows, here and there. But it got rather dark and he can hear closer breathing. The broken up word is heard and Lysunder breathes deep, his hands going a little limp.
"Gia-" He starts, though it's extremely quiet, and the next parts make not a single sound but his lips form the sounds before going still.
Before everything goes still, and his eyes grow dim.
no subject
To his surprise, he does not regret telling the Summoner his name. As young as the lowblood is, he almost...trusts him not to do anything stupid with it.
Then he gently lays the body down on the ground, the one wing still hanging on by a small section still connected, then looks him up and down with a small smirk of admiration. His shirt is practically torn to ribbons, pants dirty and ripping at some of the seams after all that fighting and struggling. He looks thoroughly debauched, if it had been that kind of fight, but the highblood has a wild imagination and he can't help but lick his lips. Hands slide under his back, feeling along the root of the wings again. He gets a good grip of skin and wings, breathing out hotly, staring into the slightly lidded eyes that hadn't gotten a chance to fully close. Once he removes this wing...
His grip tightens and then finally a loud tearing sound (followed by a hungry, wanton moan) pierces the silence of the forest, all forms of wildlife driven away from the forest for now.